Unbound
Be the one to squeeze my hand,
As I gaze at the freckled beauty of life
Be the one to keep the mug of spent coffee,
On the bright side of the shadows,
As my wandering mind reflects,
The play of light and dark,
That consoles the wooden table with its paradoxes.
Be the one to give me the pen,
And the silent encouragement that comes with it,
In my fleeting moments of inspiration.
Be the one who’s eyes lend me their vision,
That I may see the world anew.
Be the one to keep me afloat,
In the dizzying ocean of absolutism,
That I may stay true to who I am.
Be the one to colour these walls around me,
To kindle the fire of curiosity that has lain dormant and cold for so long.
Be the one to know that this needs no ending.
Los Ciruelos
Tus ojos brillan,
Como las estrellas que iluminan,
La tierra de mis sueños,
Donde te encuentro.
Te protegeré:
No tengas miedo,
Porque la luna está en el cielo,
Y te doy mi valor y mi luz.
Quiero oír tu voz,
Desde los rios donde nos alojamos –
Los rios que reflejan el paisaje,
De la vida que construyeramos.
Pero por ahora, atravesando mi calma,
Para que podrás sanar mi alma,
Estás etéreamente sublime,
Sonriendo a mi desde la cama.
No hay un punto final,
Entre dos líneas paralelas,
Su inevitable trayectoria infinita,
Está encendido por las velas.
Al cierre del día,
Cuando el horizonte ha extinguido mi melodía,
Continuaremos en el suelo,
Como parte de los ciruelos.
Plum Trees
Your eyes shine
Like the stars that illuminate
The land of my dreams
Where I find you
I will protect you:
Don’t be afraid
Because the moon is in the sky
And I give you my valour and my light
I want to hear your voice
From the rivers where we stayed –
The rivers that reflect the passage
Of the life that we will build
But for now, piercing through my calm
So that you can heal my soul,
You are ethereally sublime,
Smiling at me from the bed
There is no final point
Between two parallel lines
Their inevitable infinite trajectory
Is lighted by the candles
At the close of day
When the horizon has extinguished my melody
We will continue in the soil
As part of the plum trees
*Translation by author
Words
How fickle words are,
A few simple vowels uttered in but a few seconds,
Have the inveterate power to completely wash away years,
Leaving only hollow voices, aromas, and tastes in their wake.
How easy it would be to ignore those benighted syllables,
Uttered only to the wise wind which will carry them,
Indifferent,
To the gentle ears of those who will not know their meaning,
And will not care.
I Want To Fall Asleep
I want to fall asleep,
To the melody of speckled lights,
Throwing shadows at painted walls;
To the scent of an up-ended book,
Regretfully laid aside for a different time, or a different face;
To the caress of gentle music,
Floating upon the weightlessness of my falling mind;
To the nibble of an approaching twilight,
Tapping longingly at the steadfast window;
To the spectacle of your weary eyes,
Succumbing to the distant whisper of a husky voice,
‘I want to fall asleep’.
The Fate of Gillan Davies
The fate of Gillan Davies,
Was not determined by the stars:
The lucidity of their fragile glow,
Was lost in the diaphanous veil of her thoughts;
Had become entangled in the trail her pigmented missteps,
Felt obliged to leave behind them.
No; the fate of Gillan Davies,
Was not whispered on the wind,
Like some listless lullaby of a bygone age:
The pale aura licking at her frosty lips,
Was silent and gentle as the doubts,
That perspire into the pores of our sanity.
The fate of Gillan Davies,
Was the subject of candlelit conversations,
Besmirched with the tantalising chill of surprise,
Like the fiery leaves of Autumn,
After they have been kissed by Winter,
And buried under Spring’s boastful embrace.
The fate of Gillan Davies,
Is not remembered any longer,
For the daffodils have carried her scent upon their wake,
And hidden her memory in a tiny glass bottle,
To be locked away and taunted,
By the finite merits of a collective apathy.
Eveningfall
The weight of whispered voices,
Burdens the sultry air,
Speckles of unclear delight,
Adorn our brittle hair.
Dawning misunderstandings,
Rise silently there,
And belittle the best of us,
Marked in our vacant stares.
The enamoured fires of civilisation,
Rage ardently, but bare,
In face of pale sunlight,
That absolves all despair.
A single noble bird,
Rides the wind in graceful dare;
Two paupers of tellurian birth,
Make a tender pair.
The mountains in the distance,
Lie still, and without care,
But those heavy-beating wings,
Are more than one can bear.
This resplendent evening fall,
Lingers on in moments most rare,
But has largely been forgotten,
And coaxed into Eos’ lair.
My fleeting visions of patient darkness,
Were more lucid than the daily fare;
Steal from me my avid trifles;
My memory, repair.
As I sit now, distant and pensive,
Upon my faraway chair,
I wonder at that spectacle,
That, my thoughts, hath ensnared.
